Come Away With Me
by Starry Eyed Wonder
Summary: (AU)[VH,AY]She was a Muslim, he a convert. They fell in love, the price of which would be hell. She can't shame her family and when everything seems too late it all comes down to choices. Who will she choose?
1. I So Far Away

**A/N: MUST READ So, I debated so much posting this baby. It's different from everything I've written…and yet same, if you know what I mean. So many obstacles have been covered concerning love—but what about something that is so likely to happen in countries that are becoming multi-cultural. Heck, America is a cultural melting-pot; there are bound to be some obstacles such as language, culture and religion concerning lovers. And so dear reader, I bring this story which is so very close to my heart because it is a reflection of some of my fears, of my friends' fears… Inspired by a dream a few nights ago, the story haunted me till I had to pen it down. **

**If you would like to read, please read with an open mind…or if you want something more for light entertainment, please read some of my other stories.**

_**Dedicated to Aina-lass (Ryuu Angel), who has been the sort of friend very few have and I am overwhelmingly grateful to have. You know the deepest part of me, the things I've never told cousins who've been like sisters to me since I was born, the things nobody will ever know because I would simply DIEE of embarassment. I VOW things will be perfect for you, lass. I do vow. wink Book a ticket to Gretna Greene for me will you, ten years from now? Doona worry, b-teddy isn't into the fantasy of elopement. xD **_

**I. So Far Away**

_Sometimes I think I hear your voice_

_In my head, whispering promises_

_Of things that could never be. _

Effusive, warm, earthy smell; the scent of happiness, of consuming passion, of dreams all condensed into this one moment, holding everything so still, so fast, so clear, so blurred. The fragrance permeated through the room, lacing into the laughter into the knowing winks and the light innuendo-laden remarks.

But she knew the source of the scent. It was the bridal henna, the herbal mix that was being tattooed onto her hands till her elbow, the mix that gently bound itself to her feet, an initiation, a warning of the step she was to make.

Into marriage.

Intoxication almost took hold of her head as her green eyes lit upon the white garlands that decorated the room. No, there were other flowers. Roses, boldly lounged upon the tables seductively, lilies glowed sultrily in the heat of the room that was exotically India.

It was an ideal marriage; so much happiness in the house that it was tangible, so much joy that she could capture it into her fist, a man stepping out of any Muslim girl's dreams. Rooms were decorated with garlands and flowers, filled with happy faces excitedly talking of dresses they would wear. For once, the monsoon rains had taken a short reprieve and the days had been bright yet the occasional wind did touch faces.

There was magic in the air; mankind loved a lover, whether he loved or not…no, mankind loved a man who looked like he could be a lover. And her husband-to-be, Imran, looked the part. Curly dark hair, dark eyes, and a face that was representative of joyful youth.

Ah, the irony of it all. She had always prayed for one thing.

The green-eyed woman didn't care if her wedding was grand, how many dozens of roses the bridal house would be decorated with, if her dress would have elaborate embroidery, what her husband would look like—but just this one thing, this one thing.

That this marriage would be for love.

Five hundred guests were invited to her wedding, dozens did not begin to describe the number of bouquets—maybe a hundred dozen would be closer, her dress, so filled with delicate, intricate embroidery weighed a good fraction of her weight, and her husband-to-be had been rated as one of most handsome men people had ever laid eyes on for a long time.

She had everything; yet, nothing at all.

"Here comes the lover to your door/Here comes the lover to your door…" her best friend Yukari sung a wedding song teasingly, her lovely smile arching across her cheeks widely.

"If you are still like that to your lover's amorous attentions, then honey, we'll have to work on you quite a bit!" a plump woman who she recognized as a distant aunt giggled.

The bride-to-be's face flushed slightly, "Surely he won't touch me on the very first night!"

The women paused and looked at her, laughing as if she'd just stated that the world was flat.

But it was Yukari who apprehensively, softly stated, "Hey, if he's as noble as he looks, he won't make you do anything you don't want…but," her melting brown eyes met hers, "it's a good chance that he will want to touch you." Her friend bit her lip, "After all, a woman doesn't have rose petals covered on her bed everyday."

Rose petals… 

"_I, what?" Her voice cracked._

"_You, you remind me of a rose bud."_

"_A rose bud? You always have the most odd and _ill-fitting_ analogies."_

"_Ill-fitting? Even now, you're a rose who tries to hide her beauty within the enclosure of her petals, afraid to bloom open." Hypnotic eyes met hers, "Yet one that is nonetheless picked because the essence that defines her isn't her looks—but who she is, who she will be."_

"Hitomi?" a finger gently jabbed her shoulder. "Goodness, if you're so nervous I think it would be better if you guys did wait."

She blinked rapidly, the sweep of lashes caressing her cheeks, hiding the treacherous thoughts in her eyes, encapsulating it. Her eyes were secretive, if you looked too hard…too close…you would see her dreams bared. "Eh, Naaz, maybe you should give our little bride-to-be some tips."

Naaz was beautiful, there was no denying it. Romantic dark lashes, thick and long hid her irises and her complexion was so luminescent it was the type that would look beautiful as moonlight caressed it, flickering here, lighting there.

She had been married for a year and had never been happier as she was now. Henna also covered her hands though hers was nowhere as closely elaborate as Hitomi's.

"Well," her blush-colored lips smiled, "'Tomi, men are quite easy to please. They're like a motion detector—you know? Offer them the slightest touch and you'll get a reaction, caress them and captivate them…and you'll hold their will in your hands until they'll eat out of them."

What about a woman's pleasure? Was she simply a tool to be used to satisfy his appetites? Her mother had always told her that one never appreciated gifts until they gave _and_ received.

Yukari, ever the curious, and next in the marriage mart asked, "Well, what if she doesn't want to, you know…lose her virginity right then. What would she do?"

"Well, I wouldn't know from experience," all the women laughed, "but, she'll have to definitely touch him a bit to console him. If you please him and confess how scared you are and that you want more time—he'll probably give in. Key is to do your job without doing it."

She stiffened; a job, is that what it was? A miserable job.

_"So, you'll lose your virginity."_

_"If I have to."_

_"You shouldn't **have** to do anything," his voice was tight with the slightest edge of roughness. "You wouldn't be breaking any Islamic law if you wanted to wait to get to know your husband."_

_Her eyes widened, a watercolor of emotions. "Not all men think as you."_

_"It's simple courtesy. How would this make it any better than sleeping with the blind date?"_

_She smiled softly, "Humans are hardly perfect."_

_"I," he looked away, bending down to get a loose paper, "want everything to be perfect for you." _

The dark henna designs glistened as they caught light, the paste still relatively wet. Another aunt nudged Hitomi, "You're being so awfully quiet, dear. Is everything alright?"

All of her force concentrated in that one moment as she gave a blinding smile, "Perfectly fine." She changed the subject rapidly before anybody else would comment that she looked pale or any of those tell-tale signs, "Do you think the henna will be dark?"

Hanaan, her aunt, smiled widely, "You know what they say…the darker your henna, the more love there will be in the marriage. So, for your sake, I pray to Allah it will be the darkest ever!"

Yukari rolled her eyes, "Pfft, all that folklore. I think the perfect color is maroon…you know? A few shades darker than saffron, shadowy and passionate." She grinned whimsically.

Darker than saffron, shadowy and passionate. They were his eyes. Van Fanel's eyes.

Sonia, the woman applying the henna turned her head up to look at her, "Do you want his name written on your hand?"

It was too late. His being was written into her soul, engraved, and captured in her mind. Now, no names would change that.

"Sonia," Yukari chided, "that's so juvenile!"

She smiled gratefully at her best friend who gave her the slightest wink, "I agree with Yukari. A simple name on my palm won't make me his."

She'd have to leave her old bonds, there was nothing she could do. She would be wed at this very time tomorrow.

An image formed behind the cover of her eyelids as she blinked. A bold dash of dark hair, henna colored eyes, the smile that was warmer than sunshine…

The sketch was replaced by another, a man with curly hair and dark brown eyes. Her husband-to-be.

Allah help her, because now no being could.

OOOOO

_You make everything seem possible,_

_But my everything is you and I._

_And we are not possible._

Moisture.

There were tears in her eyes.

_…Hitomi? Your tears are diamonds I never want you to give away for a worthless cause or a worthless person._

A helpless half-cry and half-chuckle formed in her lips. His literature class had made him a poet for one painful year in which everything he seemed to say was poetry. He teased her in this way, concocting horribly written cliché lines to describe her features—though some were, she admitted, sweet.

It hadn't all been a joke. It hadn't been all friendship.

_I miss you,_ she hugged herself, making sure the henna did not stain her white night gown. Her last night being a virgin. What were brides supposed to feel? She certainly felt no happiness, no excitement or giddiness, but just this vague, numb hollowness. Her throat burned. She needed a good cry, yet the prickling tears wouldn't develop into full-fledged ones.

A lonesome, forceful wind blew across the high terrace making her scarf slip away from her hair and gently the strand of which frolicked openly. The night was misty, gray clouds gliding gently, sometimes flirting with the moon that looked down on her almost omnisciently. It was with luck that she had found time and gotten allowance for some privacy. Oh the day…it had been full, so hectic. The laughter in everyone's face was a glaring light that she wished she could turn away from, the congratulatory embraces from cousins and aunts a squeeze closer to death. She felt as if she was dying, all emotions one by one become sucked into a black hole of nothingness.

By Allah, she missed his voice, his laughter, his re-assurances, and his belief in her.

He didn't miss her, that was clear. He wouldn't ever miss her. He was a dream that her mind had created, an impossible fantasy that Allah had cruelly teased her with.

The slow creak of the gate alerted that someone was afoot.

"Who is it?"

"Shh, relax, it's me, Yukari."

Her friend quietly came across and sat beside and together they overlooked the neighborhood. "It's not getting better is it."

It was a statement, not a question.

"It's worsening." Yukari sighed deeply, listening to her friend's reply. She wound her arm around her waist and looked nostalgically at the moon.

"Tomi, do you remember the crazy teenagers were? We had such grand dreams, such big, romantic illusions of a man that would sweep us away."

"I know a man will sweep you away, Yukari. If he doesn't, then I'll have to break his nose." She snaked her arm around her cousin, squeezing her gently. "You still have time."

Yukari laughed, but it was strangely hollow, "No, that's only for beautiful girls, 'Tomi." She thought pensively, "You know what I hate? My mother keeps pushing me for that Ph. D because she knows I won't stand a chance to land a good marriage without it. After all, I don't have the key ingredient: beauty."

"The key ingredient is a beautiful soul and that you have in immense quantities," Hitomi chided faithfully. "I cannot understand why Imran would want to marry me."

"Men haven't evolved so much, girl." She chuckled throatily, "Be it Muslim, they'd rather look at a stunning wife each morning, rather than an ordinary one. Imran, Imran…you know, I've never been able to size him up."

"Well, if you're jealous or envious of gorgeous Dhania," she referred to another cousin, "and her too-handsome husband, please let me assure you that he's no wonder. I swear, if you knocked on his head and listened close, you'd hear an echo. His mind is a Stone Age cave where women are subservient."

A laugh rippled out of her cousin's mouth dissolving into the night. "Good, you're laughing now," Hitomi eyed her dearest cousin with fondness, "I was beginning to think that it was you who was marrying, not me."

"Seriously, you say something funny like that to a man and you'd amuse him! I could never be so…relaxed…with someone I liked."

She rolled her eyes, "That's the sad part, some view us as amusement and petty. Thank Allah, you won't come across that way." She lifted her shoulders in a deep breath, closing her eyes. She wanted to take everything in, the smell of the air, the invisible soft fingers of the wind that skittered across her face like cottony kisses, the moonlight and it's pagan dance melting the boundaries of time so that they were two teens with big eyes, overwhelmed with dreams.

"Hitomi." The brown-haired woman was silent for a moment, "What're you gonna to do about this marriage? Just go on, move on and forget him?"

"What's left to do?" Her throat felt odd.

"But," she spoke loyally, "what you two had was…phenomenal."

"He's not here now." she sighed, frustrated as a wispy strand of hair coming into her eyes, "I'm trying so hard to put him away. For Allah's sake, I'm going to be someone else's wife by tomorrow night! It just seems even…_adulterous_ to even be thinking of him."

"Hitomi—," Yukari titled her cousin's head to face her, "there are some of us who'll never know such love and if you, you, Hitomi Kanzaki let him go because of a few obstacles in life—I will be ashamed of you."

Tears lit her eyes into an ethereal green, "You think it's because of mere obstacles? Yukari, I could never bear it if he had to sacrifice so much for me, I could never bear it if somebody sneered at him, criticized the fact that he didn't speak our language—God, I'm not even sure he would be ready for all he would have to leave, to sacrifice! There are over five hundred guests coming…do you realize the shame our family would feel if I married him now? I would be ruining your chances—I would be ruining everyone's chances at marriage! We'd always be labeled as the family with that shameless, immoral girl who had a past lover!"

There was silence.

An embrace. Yukari held her dearly, so closely, as both shuddered with tears falling in a scalding race. Hitomi's words were warbled, "I p-prayed so much, Yukari, I prayed so much. It didn't work. We weren't meant to be. Allah never does something without good reason."

The brown-eyed girl broke away hastily wiping her tears away, then wiping her cousin's. Her voice crackled, "It's never too late, remember? Nothing is impossible. '…if ye remain firm, and act aright, even if the enemy should rush

here on you in hot haste, your Lord would help you with five thousand angels...'" She smiled through her tears when she quoted the Qur'an, "Your angel has to come, he has to come."

"I wish I had your optimism," she laughed tentatively and took a big sniff to clear her nose.

"You're not going to shed one more tear, alright?" Yukari warned as she wiped one away, "you're going to have eyes as swollen as a frog's neck by tomorrow morning."

She giggled, "And you said that I was funny."

"Whoops, there goes another tear," she brushed the wayward drop away. Her eyes fell upon the nervous girl's face affectionately. Times had changed but beneath all those layers, they were still the same, still hopelessly trying to grasp the dreams of smoke. "Now, close your eyes and just breathe, girl." She paused, "If your love is true in God's eyes, then no force can stop it, not a marriage, no families, no reputations. Did your love ask for your hand in marriage?" Yukari asked softly.

She smiled a bittersweet smile, "He was going to…but it was too late. Father interpreted my silence as a yes when Imran's family's proposal came. How could I reject it? Imran was pleasant, morally upright, handsome, funny—I couldn't foolishly say I was not in love with him. You could say Van and I are just as far apart as the sun and the moon that'll never meet. Cultural and language barriers. He speaks only English and Spanish and is a convert. Father never approved of him."

"Why?"

"If there was a way to describe him—it would be blunt. He's blunt about things, blunt about feelings, about life, about his desires. I was falling in love with him, admiring him, imagining life with him… Father could see it in me. As far as he was concerned, Van," she swallowed, his name sounding so odd on her lips again, "was a temptation, a test by God sent to lure his daughter away into sin. He wasn't even sure if he would even last as a convert."

"Did he…did he ever—"

She smiled, anticipating her friend's question, "No, we never touched if that's what you're going to ask. He never wanted me to sin because of him in any manner…we didn't even hold hands." He didn't need to touch, no, the yearning in his eyes, the flames that dwelled in those maroon orbs soothed her, caressed her.

"He sounds like a dream."

"And what are dreams, Yukari? Illusions that the mind creates," she murmured softly.

That's what he would be reduced to, she thought with a jab of pain, a dream, a hypnotic mirage.

"I refuse to give up for you," her jaw was set in determination.

There were faint lines stretching across the night signaling the approach of morning.

She yawned and as if in understanding, silently both girls stood up.

Before they left the terrace, Hitomi paused to look up at the sky for a moment. She blinked, smiling softly and gently closed the gate.

_…Where are you, Van?_

_OOOO_

_I see a bright light from the corner of my eyes,_

_Is it you or a luminous sunbeam?_

_Is it raining water,_

_Or the monsoon of my dreams?_

Thousands of miles away, maroon eyes cracked open. He blinked rapidly as sunlight poured into his irises.

"Fanel, I was beginning to think you were dead," a languorous voice spoke from a discreet corner.

"Ela'an," he viciously whispered the curse in Arabic, and looked accusingly at his friend, the tall brown-haired man who leaned on the door, "you drugged me." He sprung up, only to suppress a groan; if his muscles could creak with disuse, they would be doing so now.

"If you planned on jumping into a plane, you wouldn't have made it in one piece," his friend pointed out logically.

"How long have I been out?"

"Two days."

He hissed, "I'm late!"

"Van, would you calm down," the man moved away from the door, "this isn't the way to handle the situation. Your body still needs time to repair, you—"

"Damn it, Amano, she'll be married in the next twenty four hours! I wasn't there for her when she left."

Amano Susumei couldn't believe his friend, his partner, had fallen into the lie of love. Love, the word that he had grown to mistrust with good reason, brought nothing more than pain.

"Van, the assignment isn't over yet. You can't leave for India."

"There's nothing more to the assignment than papers…the attack has been deflected, the world is safe and damn it, is it asking too much to go get my life back?" His eyes were wrathful as if it would lend fire to his whole body.

"Fine," the stoic Amano's face softened, "but I'm coming with you."

"You don't need to."

"I insist. You're still vulnerable."

"Vulnerable my ass."

He raised a brow, "If you wanted a confession that I would miss you, sorry buddy, I choose the lesser of two evils. Your tyranny is better than boss' when I tell him where you've gone. So, where are we headed, anyway?"

"Bombay."

OOOOO

_Open the door to your dreams,_

_And you'll find me waiting._

Yukari yawned, half-asleep and drowsy as she lay beside her cousin, "Hmm, Hitomi, you awake?"

"Yeah."

"What if he came for you? What will you do?" She murmured softly.

She blinked, and then closed her eyes as if making the decision final. "It would be too late. I'd tell him to leave."

"What if you accepted, you went away with him? What then?"

"I wouldn't."

"But what if…?" she persisted.

The henna, now dry, allowed her to curl her palms into fists, "Father would kill him first, then himself."

"No really," Yukari spoke seriously.

"Alright, Father would be close to killing Van, then he would kill himself with grief and disappointment over my actions."

"No way out is there?"

"No, afraid not."

"Hitomi? Don't give up your virginity to Imran tomorrow, okay?"

"Given up hope, have you?"

"No," she shrugged it away; "it would kill you if you lost it without feeling any love for him… And if Van isn't for you, God knows, I want you to fall in love with your husband and not think of the treacherous moment you made love to a man you had no feelings for while you loved another."

Specks of henna had fallen off, and under the dim glow of the candle in the room, she observed the color.

Dark maroon, the color of his eyes.

She needed no names on her palm; his soul was tattooed onto her hands and legs.

"Some people love many times…I'm afraid, I'll only love once," she murmured as she fell asleep into her pillow, her hands between the valley of her breasts.

Invisible beings of light, angels whispered their prayers, their voice an airy brush on her skin.

**A/N: Some areas have been decidedly left vague. I was getting you just into the picture of the story. Next chapter will be detailed, delving into the mind of Van Fanel and Hitomi Kanzaki and their relationship…and yes, I loved Yukari in this story especially and I wouldn't be able to bear if she did not find her own prince. So, perhaps because of her, the story is a bit extended. **

**Note that Muslim weddings aren't exactly like this so I don't unwittingly create stereotypes…this is representative of a sort of wedding in my family; so it's more Indian/Asian-Muslim wedding, really. The henna designs are cultural, applied to all brides in India ere their wedding as well as close friends and family of the bride and/or the groom (only females have it done though…). I myself got one of my cousins to apply it this summer on my hands, it was gorgeous (note: if any of you visit India, definitely get it done! It's quite an experience…you never truly appreciate the mobility of your hands and how much you touch with your palms until then coz you have to be let it dry for hours!). And yesss…mine turned into a deep, dark, shadowy maroon. Van's eyes. **

**Note that the quotation that started the Van scene is not entirely my own creation—it was inspired by a recent Indian movie song lyric which goes something like, "Was it really you or a luminous sunbeam/Was it really you or the monsoon of my dreams?" They've been altered to fit my purposes.**

**I've already started working on the second part and have two pages done. As for my other stories, I'm getting back on track as soon as possible. You have to realize that I'm not getting paid to write this, and the Muse cannot be controlled however much I'd like it to be, though I do understand completely how much you'd wish I'd finish my stories. But all I can say is…be patient, be patient please!**

**I didn't get into National Merits but never fear—I took the SATs in February (delayed) and scored a 1280 the first time. :D Math score was abysmal. But the verbal was pretty high for a first time—710. Thank you for all your prayers and all your best-wishes! You guys are awesome!**

**R&R PLEASE!**


	2. II Enter the Angels

**II. Enter the Angels**

_Your memories stored in a matchbox,_

_Lit into flames, smolder away, _

_Return by the wind to where you are._

_You were never mine to keep._

Dawn was fast approaching; she could see its creeping fingers gently caressing the blanket of clouds. Little sunbeams flickered weakly being subjects bowing to the coming of the sun.

Her hands were raised in prayer as she sat on the rug, while a deep sense of peace filled her, making the hollowness skitter away. Meek sunlight kissed the tips of her lashes, which instantly turned into curving golden sparks. The white terrace was the enclosure of where she'd dreamed, grown up as a child.

She let her palms press across her face for a moment and gently kissed her hands, the symbol of having finished her prayers. The morning breeze caressed her cheeks as if in a fond greeting and slowly, surely, a smile appeared on Hitomi Kanzaki's face, stretching until her spirits lifted.

"So, there you are! Your mother was beginning to think you ran away or something!" the panting, relieved voice of Yukari came from behind her, ending her moment of reflection.

Hitomi rolled her eyes as she turned around, "Yes, 'Kari, tell Mother I trust her quite enough as well."

'Kari giggled, "Well, I can't blame her, you know. Last night she was telling us how in her days there was this movie in which the woman ran away and wrote 'I loved, not sinned,' to her parents. Soon after, the rate of elopement rose with girls writing that very same note."

The green-eyed woman smiled, patting the prayer rug as she folded it, "What kind of friend are you? Should've told me about that earlier."

Yukari blinked as the sun came into her eyes and smiled, the sunshine kissing her lips. "A ticket to Gretna Greene _can_ be arranged, you know," she blinked coquettishly.

Hitomi slapped her arm affectionately, "You are an awful influence on me."

"Always my pleasure. Imran looks too uptight to suggest anything even remotely daring so I suppose I must stick to my duties of providing that for you."

Smiling knowingly, her eyes lighting up as she caught her cousin and best friend's arm, "And is that the type of man you want, Yukari?" Her eyes glowed, "Somebody who'll defy the world, be daring as-you-please and carry you away?"

The brown-eyed girl pulled away, "You and your words, I swear, they're too kind and too tempting. If the poor man you describe, who's too good to be true exists…before we can even think of having a future, he'll die of exertion carrying me two paces away!"

Hitomi chuckled and winked suggestively, "Honey, I can only think of one place where you'll drive him to exertion."

Yukari gaped in mock-shock then narrowed her eyes dramatically, "I'll just have to find a heavy-weight and track champion—a combination of which will guarantee he has strength and…err," she laughed girlishly, "stamina."

The world blurred into pastels and colors, and for that moment Hitomi stared at her cousin. Her laugh gave her a minx-like look, her eyes the warmest of chocolate and glistening with intelligence, and her high cheekbones evidenced her stubbornness. Silently, mutely, Hitomi Kanzaki vowed she'd find a man for her cousin, a man who'd be worthy of her love, who'd find her life more precious than his very own.

"Why are you looking at me like that for?" Yukari asked abruptly.

She ruffled her hair messily as she adjusted her _dupatta_, a stole-like cloth used to cover the outlines of her chest. "I was thinking that I think this is the year where my wonderful cousin Yukari Uchida will find her man."

"And what, pray tell, Miss. Fortune-teller makes you say that? He hasn't showed up in the past twenty six years," she snorted.

She smiled, "I have no idea. I just think so."

"You think wrong," the brown-eyed girl said pragmatically.

"Well, if my thoughts are wrong, you'll just have to count on me to book a ticket to Gretna Greene in case the note 'I loved, not sinned,' starts seeming very appealing to you."

A giggle bubbled on her lips, "Oh dear Allah, I hope the possibility never arises. If this is the year, I wish the man would hurry up!"

"Me too, me too, 'Kari."

They went downstairs, as the sun had finally reached its throne.

She had released him into the morning sky, let go of his memories as if a thousand beautiful white doves had been set loose from their invisible ivory cages. It was all over; childhood was over, idealistic dreams were coming to a closure, the romance she'd begun to write about her own life was coming to its dénouement, fighting the illusion of a happy ending, of love surmounting all obstacles.

Love was not enough. Life was; her love wasn't so important that she'd destroy the chance for a happy life for others.

_You hide from me, taking refuge in silence,_

_When your eyes plead for all that you dream,_

_All that cannot cross the seam of your lips._

_Whisper it and I'll catch it in my lips,_

_Show it, and I'll hold it in my hands._

"She will absolutely not agree to your offer," he drawled mildly, firmly.

"Thanks for the support, Amano; always knew I could count on you," Van bit sarcastically.

"I am not doubting Hitomi's strength—she'd run to you if she didn't have responsibilities," he ploughed on logically. "Trust me, I'm born Arabic," his heavily-lidded eyes were a stamp of proof, "and if my sister had run into some lover's arms on her wedding date, we'd kill the man." He wished his sister had; he would've even abetted the lovers.

The maroon-eyed man paused as they went through the security, "What makes you think that her parents won't attempt the same?"

"I'm hoping you'll stop being an ass, attend her wedding with a bouquet and best wishes, and let her go." He was more controlled while Van was volatile; he smiled grimly, he'd have to keep an eye on the raven haired man before he got himself killed…or worse, killed someone else in the process.

The hiss of air, and Van turned around, "Does your scrawny heart have a soft spot?"

The brown haired man faltered for a moment but blinked and let it go. Soft spots, what did he know of that? Van Fanel did not know of the anguish that tore his heart into shreds when his younger sister came home bruised by a husband who had loved her for a year, lavished upon her the world until the moment she'd given birth to a girl. Amano had ached to stop her, halt the farce of a marriage and yet, his sister, with quivering lips and sad eyes stripped of innocence, had stopped him to save the dignity of her family. Women, they were born to be someone else's. He had never experienced such a keen pain of loss that gouged his heart. She belonged to her husband now; his claim to her was reduced to polite love that constituted as Happy Eid's and I Miss Yous.

This was the dark side of humanity, the craven beasts that hid behind the face of religion and goodness, twisting faith to fit their purposes.

As far as he was concerned, marriage was an unnecessary hell on Earth that he'd been too naïve to protect his sister from.

Van Fanel frowned as he watched the clock. 5 p.m. She'd be married in three hours. O' Allah, he had to reach her even if it took everything he had. Memories of her clouded his mind; her laugh, her pure affection, her efforts to hide the passion beneath the veneer of perfect composure and goodness, her wicked delight as she'd spotted a Harley that she'd longed to ride, her loyalty to him as her parents had acted coolly…

God, he wanted to uncap her passion, to liberate her from whatever inhibitions held her together, to pull all her strings until she came freely to him.

He wanted to yank all the barriers away, wanted to give and take her first kiss, wanted to be her first and only lover.

Countless nights, he had wondered what would she be like when all her control was gone, when she was free to say, to do, and to feel whatever she desired with him.

Him. Only he would see her opening her petals, revealing herself to him, as she would do for no other man. He wanted her to know the pleasure of laughing so much that your jaw hurt, of being so happy that the smile on your face became a part of your feature.

He wanted to give her his very own life.

She had come to him like an angel of mercy and for that moment, he could've sworn by the Qur'an she had glowed. There he lay on the deserted street, wasted with booze, smelling of marijuana and nearly dying.

His eyes had opened slowly as if it took all the power he had and he distinctly remembered those eyes, those steady green eyes with something akin to remorse and fear in them. Somewhere in the process of being treated in the hospital he had held onto her hand as if it would guarantee him heaven, salvation from death and all his sins.

He had been nineteen and made too many mistakes to count and the angel that curved on the stool looked unsullied as the cotton white sheets that covered him. Hazily, drugged, he had wanted to with childish fascination touch her face with his dirty hands, see how she would react to his grime, whether his touch would permeate through her skin, tarnishing her. He had closed his eyes again and held on dearly to her for his life, unknowingly memorizing the face of the scarf-wearing Muslim girl.

He'd woken up alone with no signs of the female who had saved his life, making him wonder if she was an illusion his desperate mind had fashioned.

In a fast-moving world where beauty was disappearing at a rate only slightly less fast than filth was being created, he had grasped onto her memory. She had become his reference, his conscience, his beacon to turn to when the temptation rose, when his world crashed into the depths of shallowness.

At twenty, Van Fanel fumbling for the purity he so lacked and maddeningly desired, staggering on the crooked path that seemed to threaten to swallow him, destroy his very soul, accepted Islam.

The acceptance of Islam was like the acceptance of love; it didn't discriminate on his past identity, what grave errors he had made previously; all that mattered was who he was now, what he would be in the future, and by God, he had hung onto that as a life-line.

For the next four years he studied the faith, mastered Arabic and Farsi, landing a government job, a subgroup of the FBI.

Flushed from the toxins of the material world, life seemed hopeful. It was then he'd met Hitomi Kanzaki once more. The day was Friday as masses of Muslims gathered for the _Jumma_ prayer in Washington D.C. Once the prayer was finished, he'd headed towards his parked car…and there, in front of him, beside his very own car, _she_ turned the ignition to her own automobile.

His heart had skipped a beat, his eyes had sprung to life, glittering maroon and the world had come to a screeching halt.

"Oh wow," the Arab's sarcasm was unmistakable, "where the hell did you bring me?" Thus was Amano's reaction to the noise, the chaos, the cheering people at the side waiting for their family, friends…the yellow-black cabs that seemed to be in a perpetual mode of honking. The very air seemed different.

Something lingered in it, something mysterious, beckoning. It was lively, it was playful, it was bursting with such sorrow and joy that one didn't know what to feel, to see.

"Oh my God," Van murmured softly to himself, captivated by the sights. He was bombarded, his senses completely dominated over and a million things came to him. A beggar with half a leg, the woman in a sari embracing another, the lights that blinked on for miles, a man carrying small glasses of tea, and the smell of…spice.

Hitomi had said he would like it here.

She had been wrong, so very wrong.

He was already in love with it.

This was…beautiful, beautiful in the sense of the doomed feeling that stalked the corner, the abject poverty…yet people, smiled, laughed, _lived_ and the paradoxical juxtaposition of these sights gave it a certain allure that was magnetic, that was heartbreakingly striking.

"What's next, Master-mind?" brown eyes carefully gave the man a side-glance.

_It's as if everything pulls me _

_Inexorably nearer to you. _

_The further I run away, the closer I am,_

_The more I let go, the tighter I hold on._

Kohl in her eyes, her lashes swept up and thickened till they were smooth curtains, a subtle blush on her cheeks, lips painted a deep burgundy, and hair pulled up. She was getting ready for her marriage.

Yukari came over to help the dresser who promptly excused herself, carefully putting the veil of sienna over her best friend's head, then adjusting it so that her face was visible. The brown-haired girl herself was clad elaborately in a gold _lehnga_, a full skirt that brought out the subtle light shades in her eyes and accented her trim waist.

"Picture perfect," she whispered, smoothing away Hitomi's intricate gown, then looked up to her face and smiled. "You feeling, alright? Looking a little pale."

"I'm fine," she said tightly, "just this dress is killing me. It weighs like a fifth of what I do!" She wrinkled her nose and tried to hold her head high as the weight of the _dupatta_ was constantly trying to push it back down.

Hitomi noticed Yukari the second she felt the silence. Her friend's eyes had misted, and something dangerously like a tear glimmered on the surface. "Yukari Uchida, if you cry, you know I will burst into sobs."

The brown-eyed girl hugged her tightly, "God, Hitomi, I can't believe you're going away. I mean, I'd seen it in my head so many times—but now, you—you really are leaving me."

She hugged her fiercely, "It isn't the end of the world. Next thing you know I'll be putting the veil over your face and lamenting on marital bliss." That brought a grudging chuckle from Yukari's lips and put a smile on Hitomi's face which might as well was a good thing for a tear had started to develop and she knew, once she started, she would not care if her make-up was affected, how swollen her eyes got, how hoarse her voice became, or if her pink nose had to be covered with foundation.

The brown-eyed girl pulled away, hastily scrubbing away her eyes. "I nearly forgot—your brother's coming to take you to your father. Something about a talk."

On cue, there was a rapping on the door and both girls started. "Come in," Yukari adjusted her _dupatta_, which had fallen to the side.

He was by all means a handsome man; tall, with warm hazel eyes, brown hair bleached by the sun, and a mouth that had jokingly mocked and laughed in the past. His lips curved into a smile, his face showed faint traces of awe. He was Mamoru.

"Oh, I'll just be leaving—" Yukari mumbled and exited through the door hastily.

Hitomi forcefully made her painted lips return the warmth as he spoke. "My little sister's finally a woman."

"This little sister doesn't want to be a woman," she replied dryly. Not true; she only wanted to be Van's woman.

He laughed lightly, "Whatever you are, whatever you want to be, you have all my good wishes and prayers."

There was an awkward silence. A knot formed in her throat and slowly, Hitomi moved, her heavy dress making her pace sluggish. She met her brother's eyes and wrapped her arms in an embrace. If only this was fifteen years ago when her brother could make all aches better.

Minutes later, she'd have to face her father.

Woefully, in her haste, she didn't notice the bouquet of tender close-budded roses that a servant had placed in her room.

He was almost there.

_You think I don't see _

_The shadow of dreams _

_That flirt in your eyes._

The dark study was a reminder of the years when she studied late nights with her father as a mentor; the years of going over mathematical problems, of faithfully reciting her tables. This was the place where as a youngster she had written five hundred lines of "I will not yell back at Mother," as a punitive measure of when she had heatedly raised her voice to reply to her mom.

Her father's dark beard was sprinkled with white hairs; after all of these years, Hitomi Kanzaki realized how truly he had aged, the man who she thought was immortal.

"Hitomi." Her father's eyes lit with a mixture of pride and love. He went to the door and helped her take a seat but first—

He embraced her tightly. He loved her, she knew, he loved her with all the life in him as he loved his family. "I've never really told you how much you make me happy. How much you're making me happy right now."

Her lips quivered and she met her father's eyes hesitantly, afraid, "I'm—I'm scared," she choked the words out.

His smile gentled, "Every woman has her fears before marriage, little insecurities. Marriage is an adventure itself." The dark haired man made her take a seat, "Whether you succeed in the next stage of your life has to do with your attitude as much as your strength." He sighed, "A man is nothing without a woman. She can tear him into shreds, or she can polish him like a star. Your fate," he met her eyes, "and your family's respect rests on your shoulders."

She looked to the floor and smiled weakly, "And what if this shoulder falters?"

He laughed, "We wouldn't have arranged this marriage if I believed your shoulders were weak."

She smiled into his eyes; he had no idea. She was already flagging.

Yukari knocked on the door cautiously before she entered, "Uncle—," she referred to Hitomi's father, "the car's ready. We're all waiting for Hitomi."

He nodded smilingly, "She's ready." She was ready as she ever would be—which wasn't very ready at all.

So, they went, down the stairs, outside to where the sleek, black limousine waited to escort her to the wedding hall. This was no dramatic movie; it would've been fitting if the skies were shredded, raging with thunderstorms, painting the perfect picture of her martyrdom. No, it seemed as if everything celebrated; the skies blossomed like a lotus, pink, with splashes of purple and searing lines of clementine, the coconut trees swayed in the breeze adding their husky murmurs of blessings.

Vaguely she recalled being seated into the car beside Yukari, remembered the masses of people who waved, smiled, who would only meet fifteen minutes later at the site of her wedding. Briefly as she heard the caws of crows, and wondered whether they prayed for her after all the partial treatment they had received from her in her younger days. She smiled; her mother had teasingly said that Hitomi's fate would be blessed once she wormed her way into the hearts of these roguish, clever crows…

Every living thing prayed to Him, glorified Him in their own way, the roses with their musky odor rose to meet His essence, the crows felt the air beneath their wings and thanked Him for flight. And these living things silently offered their prayers for the girl on the verge of womanhood; the roses for being watered religiously, being cared for, the crows for being fed to—all wishing for such a loyal love as she had shown them.

She hoped that Imran would be all of that and more. After all…he would be her husband in merely hours.

_My eyes are closed,_

_Yet my heart awakes_

_Stumbling through_

_The darkness to_

_You._

The sound of voices, they were everywhere with laughter mixing in. But she was blind to it all, her eyelashes lowered, the sienna veil covering her face. One hour. All she had to do was wait now.

She took in gusty breaths for fortitude. Yukari had hastily left for the car where she'd forgotten her mother's ring that she was supposed to deliver. Her palms felt clammy yet the enclosure was warm, brightly lit. Her chair, magnificently carved in gilded gold was set upon a high dais, surrounded by bouquets of chrysanthemums, lilies, roses, and daises of all colors. Children played on the dais, some throwing fistful of flower petals at each other, with an occasional one aiming at the bride. At her. A little girl pretended to be a bride with a small veil over her head, while a boy near her age with a devilish grin pelted her with marigolds.

So many years ago, she had been the pretend-bride, she had thrown fistful of flowers, worn a veil over her head in pretense, fantasized about having her whole arm covered with henna instead of just her palm and the inches of her wrist.

Something stilled among the crowds; she could feel it, sense it as intrinsically as she sensed her heartbeats rising. A murmur of whispers spread like a breeze over the countless guests…

He was a magnet. It was in the manner he walked, the measured, confident steps of a man who had nothing to prove, the face set with a mysterious purpose, attracted nor distracted by the females or any of the livery.

Women huddled in corners, giggled as they blatantly pointed to his stature of a little over six feet. His face was beautiful; honey-golden skin, glittering maroon irises that pushed, pulled, the dark slash of eyebrows carving his features, and the curve of those lips that God Himself would have spent more than passing moments on during his creation.

Simply put, he was angel.

His eyes were soft, so soft, like melting magenta paint on a canvas as his eyes rose seemingly heavenward to the beacon of light that illuminated the burgundy-dressed bride.

The sea of people parted as if he was a prophet, and with leisure, slow steps, he went up the staircase to the raised platform.

Her heart skipped a beat. What was wrong with her? The shadowy veil concealed the view, just giving her vague outlines. A man. In front of her.

Could it be Mamoru? Yes, it must be him. After all, none of her male cousins would come to see her before she formally married.

His name was at the tip of her tongue. He squared his palms on her shoulder…and it was as if an electrical current shot through Hitomi Kanzaki, as if she'd been zapped from death, from sleep, from dreams.

She gasped. This was not Mamoru.

Her eyes snapped open. Those fingers gently gripped her shoulder, pulling her up, holding her, supporting her…

Her mouth had gone dry; she was in a state of shock.

He gripped the tips of her veil, slowly and gently…he raised it.

Lightning struck; the earth opened below her feet; the world blurred; the sounds muted.

Green eyes collided with maroon specked irises. Van Fanel. She was looking at Fate directly in the eye and all her words had been stolen from her mouth.

He smiled slowly, in awe, "I suppose I'm late to say 'come away with me'?"

_Rain on your cheeks,_

_Heart on your sleeve,_

_Passion on your mouth,_

_Love in your eyes. _

He was a faceless stranger in the night, the darkness his veil, his advantage.

If she had any sense of logic, Yukari Uchida would simply pull up her skirts and make a run for it. But damnit, of all things, she had to get find the ring! Where had it gone, where, where? An unusual, provocative wave hit her wanting to curse so badly yet she checked her tongue, biting the inner walls of her mouth to stop the dratted thing from coming out of her lips.

After being in an odd position, her back-side rising up to meet the man's eyes (who she knew was looking, curse him!) as she crouched down to check for the ring underneath the seats—she was rewarded with the golden case that held the precious circular gold jewelry. Aha!

He hadn't moved from his spot, leaning across the hood of the car in a frozen position. Little patter and drops of rain kissed her skin like a million diamonds, and yet the man was immobile, silent, watching; a predator of the night, a panther that she'd only read about in stories.

She could almost swear not a single strand of his hair had moved and wondered a little feverishly, if he was a statue…but she was too scared to tip him over to see if he would break.

Grrr! _Please, oh God, don't let him be some sort of attacker…,_ her eyebrows raised in worry, _you know today's the first day I'm not carrying my pepper spray! _

She walked a good…fifteen seconds, until she paused and when she turned around, a mixture of shock and fear consumed her at the sight of him two paces away from her as she placed her foot—and the next thing she knew she was slipping into a pot hole and nothing was going to stop it…

The movement was fluid, agile, one moment he was as alien to her as a statue, the next…she felt his strong, steady heartbeats, the firmly muscled arms around her, supporting her back, holding onto her wrists.

Painful. It was a mixture of pleasure and pain, warmth, unbelievable warmth crept from her toenails to her face…and she was breathing too hard, too fast. And there was this gusty heat on her neck, she looked sideways to realize—they were the breaths of her savior—those breaths that nonetheless made her shiver as if it was a cold December night rather than the humid monsoon one, but one that possessed neither arctic tones or monsoon ones—it was a tropical, scorching kiss of air on her neck.

It was then she realized: he had her practically cradled in his arms.

She did what gut instinct told her to: she flailed, thrashed, not being able to see the face to judge whether it belonged to an angel or a criminal.

A distinct slap resounded in the air; she had struck him. Her captor released her…roughly, yet inflicting no harm.

"Fine," his voice was rough, scratchy, entirely masculine, "you ungrateful little hellion. Have your way." It jolted her into reality; this man was real.

"I will," she inched away from him, realizing she had begun to limp. "Don't you even dare come close to me!"

He smirked in the darkness, "I won't."

She panted and there was a crack…Yukari paled.

The heel of the sandal had twisted, her foot along with it painfully. She couldn't help but groan.

His ears caught it; the ragged breathing of the woman, the pant, the groan. God, what sort of man was he? Hell, he was finding this…shockingly exciting.

"What happened?" he toned his voice to dispassionate, polite concern.

"Nothing," her voice sounded oddly muffled.

He watched her silently, annoyed by the fact that his unreasonable heart tugged at him to run to her, escort her. He noticed her limp, and in five minutes of observation she hadn't gone far, because of two reasons as he'd conjectured based on the fact that she carried a sandal in her hand: she was hopping on one foot and pausing to rest her foot on the other one.

Hopping like a pathetic bunny. His shoulders shook with laughter, his eyes gleaming with something he wasn't familiar with, and this girl-woman had stirred something within him…something he hadn't felt for so long. He felt alive.

Taking a brisk, silent walk and catching up to her in moments, he came behind her, not giving her an opportunity to protest—and whisked her up into his arms.

"Wha—" Not realizing what was she was doing, she whacked him soundly on the head with her sandal.

"Ouch, woman," he flinched slightly, as if the whack was a mere pat on his skull, "I swear, try that again and I'll drop you right this moment."

"That would be better than being kidnapped by you," she bit viciously.

He gave her a full laugh, adjusting her weight in his arms, vaguely wondering how pliable her body was…how soft it was, what it would feel like if he—, "trust me," his voice was strained, "you'd have to pay me to kidnap you. And we're heading towards the door, not the light."

His pace was steady and Yukari Uchida discovered in that moment, the heady sensation of being carried in strong, comfortable, secure arms.

"You," she sputtered, "I can't be seen with you—like this," her mind was reeling, "wet, in your arms—you're going to have leave me just a little off, away from the door." God, did she realize what tantalizing temptations she voiced unknowingly? He could almost imagine her wet in his arms…

"Nothing wrong with getting a little wet," she missed his innuendo—or did she merely choose to?—but then again, no woman could think sanely when in such a dire situation, "and as for my arms, they're going to collapse before we reach." He lied. He was afraid he liked carrying this prickly, contradictory, soft woman too much.

She frowned disdainfully, "I never mind getting wet," she closed her eyes, "it's just God does this to me at the most wrong moments."

He had to hide his laugh, had to suppress it. Instead, he curbed into a tone of gravity, "And do you consider this a wrong moment?"

"Most wrong moment of my life," she sighed woefully.

Unbeknownst to her (she decided she'd keep the sandals away from his head), her Prince Charming had shown up.

**A/N: Belated as ever (are you surprised? I swear, we Indians, chronically late). Haha, I know I promised some of you an update last weekend…but sorry to say:sighs: life doesn't follow the pattern I wish it to. Things kept me from it; brothers leaving for respective colleges which made me engage in long hours of baking their favorite desserts and then collapsing into bed praying to God to dream of angels (yes, I'm embrassed to say one of my nicknames is Martha ;;; and…most recently dubbed, Mother Teresa.) **

**WOW. I sat there dumbfounded; the response to this story was soo encouraging! I was thinking maybe…at most, seven reviews or so… but you guys…are abosolutely wonderful. :D:D :hugs all reviewers:**

**My pirate hat off to Aina-lass. hugs you bearishly OOHH lass, I ABSOLUTELY canna wait till next year…err…next summer. You just wait, if you come, we'll have a grand time. :D:D I MIGHT pressure my uncle to take us to the Taj Mahal (mwahaha, but it would be soooo cool! And so fitting for us romance writers—beware world:angelic smile:) even though it's quite a ride from where we live…it's pathetic, I havena seen it either:coughs: Okay, so on another note…**

**I am falling for Amano's character (I wish SO BADLY I had a wrong moment like Yukari's). I had this huge grin on my face the whole time I wrote it; Yukari is gonna be quite funny. xD You'll see more of their scenes in the next chapter. Be aware that they havena seen each other's faces; just vague images in darkness. There's one more part to this story so I wanted to develop it well, rather than leave too much to the imagination. I'm already working on it and I'm hoping to finish it this weekend or so…**

**Aye, so sit back, click on the review button and let me see your opinions in my inbox when I wake up in the morning. **


End file.
